The Saiga of the Nine Holds
by anyalitical
Summary: The tale of a Dunmer by the name of Luthién on her journey of self-discovery and her associations and devoted loyalty w/ the Theives Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. Also revolves around her story with partner in crime, Brynjolf. The man in love with Luthién, Nazir. And trusted friendship w/ Veezara. Rated M for sexual content, language and mild violence.
1. Chapter 1

**_The Saiga of the Seven Kingdoms._  
**

_**Luthién:**_

The past weeks have been horrendous. I needed to escape from Whiterun. Every turn, every corner, every face, every last speck of dust laying around alluded me to the distant yet warm memories of Kodlak. I tried everything I could, oh, but divines! It was not enough. I parted ways with the companions, only temporarily. I left Vilkas in charge, for he is my most trusted friend. Before I left, I felt a compelling sense of anxious separation with the Companions. Family never meant anything to me, in fact even shuddering the word "family" made me shake in my shrouded boots. I had no longing for a family…but the Companions-I am eternally bounded to them now, and will forever be in their debt.

I have little to no comprehension of what responsibilities a Harbinger must propose-but in due time I shall learn. I know it may seem like I am running away, but I swear by the name of Ysgramor himself that I am not. I inquire my own time to grieve, to recuperate. Everything around me has been venturing with such haste-I withstand the habitual feeling of staggering, even hindering-whispering to the divines that I cannot breathe. However, no one heeds me. My shout is mute and my humanity is lifeless.

No matter, I have taken the sovereignty of visiting the lands of Riften. Associates have mentioned the town, and I quote, "Dreary and mundane, but if you're looking for the septim, Riften is the most susceptible hold. It reeks of greed. The guards are quick to look the other way as well, so don't hesitate to step out of your comfort zone every once in a blue moon."

How could one be told of such a thin-skinned city and proceed to _not_ go there?  
I should reach Riften within no longer than a day or two. I pray to Sotha Sil that my nearer future shelters a variant fate…and I fathom my trust in Riften.

Bless divines, alas I've executed my journey to the home of the glorious and the gluttonous. Shame on me, I should not be so quick to judge a city; much less the people in it based on vague accusations of (likeliest of the most) false and suggestive remarks. On first impression, it seems quite foggy…but I suppose it adds onto the hovering aura of mystery that clouds over this town-I presume it must live up to the reputation and rumours. However, I felt a little bit dead and desired endless amounts of mead and perhaps a soft warm bed to go along with it.

* * *

**_Present Time:_  
**

"Excuse me, I-"  
"What is it, Elf?" He interrupts with an oblivious ill-temper.  
"Where is the town's inn?"  
"Walk up ahead and cross the wooden planked bridge; the first door is the inn. If you plan on renting a room, speak to Keevara."  
"Thank you." I forced the words out of my mouth.  
"Hmph." The Riften Guard resumes to his post and continues to divert himself from his work.

The housing seemed quite nice. Cobblestone and wood mixed and matched together created a feeble attempt to look grand. Nonetheless, still nice, however agreeably a little mundane.

"Are you also a stranger in town?" A woman of, I suppose, Breton descent, approached me.  
"Define stranger."  
"My name is Mjoll the Lioness, but you should call me Mjoll. I used to be like you, you see. A traveler, an adventurer. I stumbled into this city years back after undertaking a wound to the chest. My longtime friend, Aerin took me into deep care and I've never left sense. It's good to see fire and passion still flows through the blood of some."  
She spoke with endless excitement and I was doubting she'd ever stop, only to continue to the prequel of her life story. I didn't mean to seem rude but I was not rich with time-I continued to my initial direction- "The Bee and the Barb."

I walk in, wetting my lips whilst looking to and forth. _Kevlar? Kevara? What was that damn name?_

"Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin you're carrying, eh lass?"  
A man attired in fine clothes approaches me. He's fair looking. Fiery hair and eyes that flicker a millennium of shades compiled of a striking emerald green. His build was muscular. Broad shoulders-but not too broad. He was quite tall as well and his stance spoke volumes of confidence.  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
"I'm saying you've got the coin but you didn't earn a septum of it honestly. I can tell."  
"How could you possibly know that?"  
His accent was distinct and I couldn't help but find it oddly…_attractive_?  
"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass. The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway." He smirked and a certain charm gleamed through. His nose wrinkled and for the slightest second his ginger dusted freckles were exposed in the firelight.  
"My wealth is none of your business." I snapped.  
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, lass. Wealth is my business." His demeanor was calm but utterly transparent. It bothered me. I remained silent and waited for table-turning question.  
"Maybe you'd like a taste?" His tone stepped down almost three octaves lower and his eyelids became heavy with secrecy.  
"What do you have in mind?" I asked. _I asked._  
"I've got a bit of an errand to preform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work extra hands are well-paid." His voice lowered.  
"So tell me this, where are your well-paid extra hands?"  
A chuckle rolled off his tongue and glided into the syrupy mist-coated air. It sounded symphonic.  
"My line of work requires those extra hands to be everywhere. So what do you say?" He placed his hands on his hips and unblinkingly swayed on his back heels.  
I suppose this _is_ what I essentially came here for…  
"What do I have to do?"  
He flashed a glowing smile and his piercing emerald eyes locked with mine and composed chemistry within the fleeting moment.  
_**"It's simple…"**_

* * *

**Please leave reviews! Can't wait to write the next chapter!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2:**_

My knees were buckled. He leaned his head closer to me-wary of his surroundings.  
"I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."  
My curiosity ignited.  
"Why plant the ring on Brand-Shei?"  
He fell silent, as if trying to recite lost lines from a script..._just how many times did this ginger-haired fool recruit outsiders of this unkempt town? _  
"There's someone who wants to see him put out of business permanently. That's all you need to know." His attitude returned to it's sharp manner.  
"Now tell me when you're ready and we'll get started."

My mind was scattered. I did not know this "Brand-Shei" nor "Madesi" so I did not mind stealing or framing…they were near innocent crimes. My dry eyes scanned the man's face, his tinted smirk that bent by the corner of his mouth. The thrill, it must have felt captivating. My throat was drenched of such thrill. I was scraping chewed bits and pieces of fossil adrenaline in my mouth-hungry for that taste again. My legs possessed their own sense of consciousness and soon enough I was crouched down behind Madesi's stand-back counter to the cobblestone wall.  
The stand's strongbox was being kept behind a braille-looking divider; wooden. It looked hand-crafted, produced only by the most skilled hand-most likely created by those of the talents in Haafingar Hold. I slid the divider to the right and alas the strongbox.  
I looked around, my left eye, keen, and knotted to the side of the lid. I looked ahead and saw the man. He was on his soapbox rambling about some mead…painfully repetitive and unstructured-almost amateur. I chuckled to myself…but it was working, the entire market crowd were circling around him, some sitting on barrels and wooden boxes-even Brand-Shei. I fixed my focus back on the ebony strongbox.  
Locked.  
And I for some unapparent reason felt taken back. I was not some simpleton, for I was wildly prepared for some twist that would unveil itself in the most of inconvenient times.  
I carried 37 lockpicks. With no shaken confidence, I was certain that must have been enough from some novice strongbox.  
_ One,_  
_ two,_  
_ three,_  
I sighed-a droplet of sweat raced down my temple and traced itself across my jawline.  
_four,_  
_ fiv-_

The box's lid flung open as if some hidden energy assisted my attempts...I was grateful, for I felt some lightness course through my timid being.  
The strongbox enclosed of a silver garnet ring, a garnet jewel, 50 septims, and lastly Madesi's silver ring.  
Needless to mention, I stole everything. The garnet could sell for much-depending on the vendor and the silver garnet ring could as well.  
I closed the box, slid the divider back into place and crouched away. I circled around the exterior of the crowd and stood behind Brand-Shei. He was going off about how unprofessional every other vendor was, in other words he was being a pompous…well, ass... (for lack of a better word.) I slithered my hand down to his pocket, the ring was slipping in the grasp of my sweating palm. He shuffled. My heart cascading and reviving itself with the quickest of endeavor. I let my grasp of Madesi's silver ring release into his pocket. With no need to lag back, I scuttled through the crowd to reach the ginger-haired man-still staggering business lines on his soapbox. As soon as our glances locked with eachother, his speech ended with no conclusion, just utter bluntness. He stepped down and circled around the crumbling gazebo. The crowd was soon divided back into the place of the continuum of merchant life.  
His eyes, within a fleeting moment, flashed to mine.  
"Is it done?" His voice seemed almost aflame despite the near brush with life imprisonment.  
"Yes." I was a little disheveled. Whether it was lack of hydration or lack of sunlight...I felt faint.  
"Apologies, ginger, but I think I might be..."

Blackout.


	3. Chapter 3

"My ring, my ring! It's been stolen!" Madesi voice echoed across the whole town. Before taking a moment to search for that precious ring of his, his eyes flashed towards Brand-Shei. His assumption was unfortunately, accurate.  
"You!" Madesi darted through the merchant crowd only to reach Brand-Shei's stall. If ever there was to be the formation of hatred in a human embodiment, you would find it in Madesi's eyes.

"Why you little scoundrel! You blockhead! You half-witted, imbecilic little thief!" All silence was now broken.  
"What is it now, Madesi? And would you stop screaming, some people are starting to feel ringing in their heads from all your hollering!" Brand-Shei spoke with a low grumble, his tone had indicated this was not the first time it has happened (the accusation part, not the part about us actually stealing Madesi's ring and planting it due to our selfish and perhaps criminalistic desires.)  
"Enough with that, Brand-Shei! I knew this day would come. Guards, guards! He is a grimy little thief with grimy little hands who obviously stole my ring. Go on, get him!"  
The guards need not any proof. They handled Brand-Shei.  
"This is ridiculous, I didn't steal that precious ring of his. Check my pockets, my stall, anything! I swear, I didn't take it!" The guards halted-allowing Brand-Shei's plea to follow through.  
Madesi rushed over to check his stall. After opening the sliding braille doors, he looked through his strongboxes, pouches, satchels, anywhere he thought was convenient enough to hold his ring. It wasn't to be found.  
Madesi glared at Brand Shei, one gold tooth sticking out from his lopsided mouth. The guards noted that Brand Shei's stall was indeed clean. They grew impatient.  
One begane to speak with a heavy riften accent.  
"We don't appreciate our time being wasted, Madesi. This isn't the first time you had us handling someone based on false, loose pretenses."  
Madesi was frantically looking around, when he finally stopped, back facing the guards holding Brand-Shei is a firm hold-however getting looser and looser by the second. He turned around slowly, his chiseled chin resting on his long and limber nails.  
"Check his pockets, if you will dear guards. I think you'll find something very intriguing." Madesi proclaimed so boldly, even I was questioning who planted the ring. Did I? Or did…he?

The guards sighed.  
"This is your last chance, Madesi, or else we're cuttin' him loose, yer hear me!"  
The guards shuffled through Brand Shei's pockets, when a small sparkling piece fell to the cobblestone ground making a very small, somehow pleasing sound to Madesi.  
One of the guards stretched down to pick up a small silver amethyst ring.  
"Apologies, Mr. Madesi….erm…he'll be trailed with thievery." Madesi lifted his pointed nose high into the foul air.  
Brand-Shei could barely spit out sounds.  
"I-I-It….it can't be. I swear I didn't steal that, I've been framed! I've been framed!" His pleas were no longer respected. The guards dragged Brand-Shei on his unforgiving heels.

There was a gut feeling in me that consumed my consciousness. Although the job seemed easy at first…I would be lying if I said I didn't feel an ache. Brand-Shei would be going to prison because of me…by gods, I cannot even imagine what Riften prisons must look like. An unholy, foul fate awaited him all because I took a peddler's job.

"You alright, lass? You're looking a little sickly…"  
My internal conflict that had been dancing amongs intervals in my head had been disrupted by the fiery haired man with luteous eyes.

I couldn't think anymore. I do not recall much happening after him asking me that…but I remember a cold, unnerving feeling, surface beneath my back.

_Blackout._

_I had awoken in a rough bed. In the curves of my back, I thought I felt hay scratching at me…but to my surprise, it was just the old fur on an old musky pelt. Delightful morning, indeed. Actually…was it morning? I couldn't tell. My vision was a little blurry, keeping me from noticing anything distinct to which could aid my understanding as to where I was. From the corner of my eye, I recognized a window. I hurried off the bed and ran towards it. Unfortunately for me…it was not a window-but bars…as in a prison cell. I had really done it this time. _

"Fuck!" She bawled. She kicked at the stone walls, and not even dirt was to be found. The air was cold and held an odor that almost smelled of nothingness but there was a wet smell; something unidentifiable. Either wet wood, or rusted metal. After riveting at the barren iron barred window…she pushed her back against the stone wall and dragged downwards. She didn't want to, and there was much that was holding it in-she leaned her forehead against her bruised knees and she closed her eyes-small tears dripping graciously.  
"You're not crying, are you lass?"  
A familiar voice whispered immeasurable amounts of comfort to her ears.  
"You! W-Where am I? Why am I here?" Her questions began to trail off.  
"Now, now, pointy one. All your questions will be answered, just follow me." And without further acknowledgement, he slid a key into the lock of the cellar door and with a cocking noise, the cellar door creaked open.  
"And why should I trust you?" Strands of hair shuffled across her face and hid her modest black eyes.  
"To be fair, you did wake up with fur pelt sheets and a roof o'er your pointy ears, lass." His temper seemed playful-that comforted her.  
"Fine." Her posture straightened as she wisped her calloused finger tips against her lower lash lines-negating any traces of salty, desperate tears.  
"And your name, miss?" The man gestured an inviting handshake.  
"Luthién. Luthién Menéldur." Her eyes intoxicated him and he couldn't help but perceive her demeanor in agreeing to his handshake as also being an invite for him to kiss the back of her cold, fluid hands.  
She was taken back by his somewhat over-stepping manners. "And you?" She inquired.  
"The little lass wants to know my name. I'm flattered already, elf. The name's Brynjolf. Brynjolf Nerald. I am a Nord of the Whiterun Hold."  
"Nerald? That does not sound like a common Nord surname."  
"It isn't. My mother was a merchant from Morrowind. She wasn't a Dunmer, like yourself, she was a Redguard- descendant of Tamriel. She met my father while bartering and trading in Whiterun holds. He was as mundane of a Nord as it gets…don't know how such an exotic beauty like herself fell in love with him. Her maiden name was Nerald. I decided to possess it after my father decided to become a worthless, sinful drunk after her death. She was everything to him, I thought I was too. I wasn't much to him after her death-so he left me out on the streets at the age of 11. I managed to pick myself back up from there. But I swore to never carry his name. He's an excuse for man….but that's neither here nor there." He unbound a nervous chuckle.  
"I am sorry…about your father, I mean." She said softly. She continued to walk past him and began leading the path, despite not knowing where to go. As she walked past him, her faint distinct smell of nightshade feathered against his nose. He was startled as to how comfortable he felt confessing his origins to her, he was also astonished with her captivating decency. He cleared his throat and trailed his eyes away from her swaying hips. He shut the cellar door and continued on through musty hallways. He took lead.  
"Look, these ground aren't exactly mine-so make sure you're quiet alright?…Oh…and try to make sure no one detects you." He spoke with haste.  
"Will do."  
They both began crouching, hugging the walls and keeping the weight on their feet effortless and light. She still did not have any comprehension as to where they were…but it started to become clearer and clearer to her. Divines…they were in the ratways of Riften. After the realization came to her-she pushed Brynjolf against the stone wall.  
"The ratways, Brynjolf?! What are you scheming?" She pulled out her ebony dagger and held it tightly against his neck. He smirked, flashing a bleached smile. He leaned in close to her pointed ear.  
"Scared of something, lass? Do you need me to hold your hand, too?" Aggravated by his swaggering, self-assured poise-she stepped back, withdrawing the dagger.  
He smirked even more and let out a little "scuff."  
"You're ridiculous. Just get me out of this shithole." She crossed her arms in such a matter-of-fact disposition, it made him chuckle a bit.  
"I would if you let me!" His eyebrows raised whilst his smirk still a little bent at the corners.

They continued on through the ratways until they reached a doorway, carved out with a radial arch. Brynjolf peered through a corner.  
"Shit." He uttered under his breath.  
"What now?" Luthién had no clear visual of what resided behind the arched doorway, but it was painfully clear to her that Brynjolf knew who or what it was. She begin to lift herself up to stretch her neck to understand what was behind the doorway-but with one stroke-Brynjolf held his palm against her mouth, and his hand resting on the curves in her back. He held her tight against the wall-his body strikingly close to hers. Her eyes widened, she tried to hit him-but was interrupted with the sounds of voices behind the doorway.  
"Where the hell is he, Mercer?" A blonde woman paced back and forth in immense measures.  
"Vex, will you shut the hell up? Your boyfriend's gonna be here-sit down. There isn't much we can do. He's one of the leaders of this guild. This is like finding a needle in a haystack."  
"This is Riften, Mercer, not fucking Solitude."  
"Who ever said he was in Riften?" Mercer's voice lowered to a presumptuous tone.  
Luthién now understood. They were discussing Brynjolf's whereabouts.  
"What did you do, Mercer? Where the hell is he?"  
"Have a little faith in your old pal, Vex. He's running a very important task I had for him. Let's just say the task is not your usual jug of ale."  
"If anything happens to him Mercer, I swear I'll have yo-"  
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before, Vex. But you shouldn't forget your position in this guild. More importantly, you should not forget my position in this guild."  
"…Understood." Vex nods her head and vanishes into the dark crevices of the ratways.

Brynjolf tugs at Luthién's sleeve and guides her towards the opposite direction of the doorway. Luthién was about to speak when she was cut off with Brynjolf's jaded reflection.  
"I know what you're going to say, lass. Just cork it until we find a way out of these ratways without someone seeing us." He hushed.  
"Us? Correct me if I'm wrong, "lass," but I'm almost certain they were searching for you." Stead-fast to disagree, he refuted, "Yea, lass, I don't know if you were listening or those pointy ears of yours need some cleanin'-but do you remember the part when they were talking about the "mission?" Yea, that's you. We are stuck with eachother, whether you like it or not."  
She cleared her throat, recognizing her flaw in logic. She said nothing more. Brynjolf noticed that it shut her up-he grinned faintly in the subdued natural light of the ratways.  
The language in body kept them company whilst the foul odor in the air pierced at their sense of smell…and quite frankly, also the sense to inhale.

They continued on through the ratways and discovered an exit, it lead the "outdoor basement" of Riften-basically the foundation that held the whole town together….and somehow standing. On paper, the whole structure on the city seemed absolutely outrageous but in reality somehow proved itself to be quite a substantial town.

"Ladies first" Brynjolf gestured towards the cellar gate. Luthién looked at him with an aggravated arch in her eyebrows and a 'tsk' that wisped off her tongue.  
All that time spent in the ratways resulted in a monumental waste. It was now dark out and they didn't trust neither the city nor the corrupt guards that were supposedly protecting it. After several disagreements they both settled on the oblivious fact that it would be unwise to part ways… they resolved on the proposition that they stay the night at "The Bee and the Barb." The only precaution that should be noted was their could be some of Brynjolf's associates either scouting potentials or guzzling mead and nullifying their sorrows away. Regardless, they both were distressed and drained-so onward they went, to "The Bee and the Barb."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Luthien:**_

In the midst of all the action, I had not actually deciphered nor approached the question as to why _I _was the mission. I realized that my name was being spoken around the holds...but would have never suspected it reached Riften. My name was demanded across some of the towns that had resided near Whiterun but I never took it seriously. The fame nor fortune never quite hit me until now. Until I realized I have an indefinite amount of coin, and a name that spread faster than forestfire. The legends of the Dragonborn are being retold...over and over again. But I still cannot fathom the fact that _I am the dragonborn. _

Brynjolf and I, after managing the quarrels of bickering agreed upon spending the night in the Bee and the Barb. We both needed rest for our "journey." I would honestly confess more if I knew more, but Brynjolf is remaining in the hush hush at the moment. All I know is we are due to travel to one of the capitol holds. My knowledge of Skyrim is primitive. I don't know much about the cities or the holds or local towns. Perhaps that is why I am so eager to trust in Brynjolf-I have established my faith into him cultivating my knowledge, my strengths and my weaknesses. He told me that is his current position in the Thieves Guild. He's been ongoingly recruiting new potentials for the guild, supposedly the Thieves Guild has been in an sapless rough patch. They've lost much coin due to old debts now replenishing and apparently the conductors of the debts have been merciless. Many members of the Thieves Guild-gone in a flash, murdered and slaughtered in pure cold-blood. Many of those members were Brynjolf's proteges. I had remarked upon his heavy eyelids and quivering tongue when he had told me the origins of the guild, his role in the revival of it, and then the downfall. I could not believe I had been admitting it to myself and to him but I felt deep sympathy for him despite the fact that the Thieves Guild was unjust and scum.

Till then, I bid you farewell and I pray to Azura that this journey courses well in an untroubled route.

_**Present Time:**_

"Take the cot." Brynjolf spoke firmly before rummaging through the room closet only to find extra pelts. He laid them out in pained movements on the floor.

In most cases, Luthién would have offered the cot to him but she still felt something against him, perhaps for weeding her into this mess of sorts. She looked down upon him and continued to monotonously detach all the armor of her body; gauntlets, bracers, leg gauntlets, breastplates and all. Brynjolf shuffled in an uncomfortable manner, her turned his back against her on the floor and attempted to sleep.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you?" Her tone was venomous. He could hear the frustration in her voice.

"Shut up." He spat.

She was taken back. Their bond had been quite playful since this all started but now she heard something heavier, scarcer than before.

"Excuse me?" In a rhythmic movement, she slid a dagger into her right hand from her left boot.

"I said-" He was cut off by Luthién. She jumped up onto him and pointed the dagger towards his neck. The sharp tip scratched at his cold neck.

"Do it." He said calmly.

She stared at him. The void of her eyes usually showed nothing of life, but there was a sensation in them that proved everything except for lifelessness. She had been locked in place.

"Go on, I don't have all day you know." He mocked her. She felt patronized and disgusted. With a hastened return of awareness in the situation, she took one of his hands and nailed it above his head whilst piercing the dagger further into the skin of his neck. She was careful enough not to actually hurt him; she only needed him to believe she could kill him ruthlessly if need be, for this was to be true.

Her back was pinned against the floor while she heard the own sound of her back hitting it. She groaned.

"Fuck..."

"Now it's my turn." Brynjolf's legs kept her sealed from both sides of her hips. He leaned in towards her neck. Luthién could not dare to breath. He whispered into her ear.

"You assume I'm going to remain callous, but I call the shots-not you. Consider yourself my new protege." Whilst carrying himself back up, he managed to puff a gust of air into her neck. She squirmed. He still held both of her hands pinned above her head. From his position he looked down upon her. He scoffed mockingly.

"You are all bark and no bite, Miss Menéldur." His tongue rolled of the "R" of her surname for what seemed like years to her.

He finally picked himself up off, releasing his grip off her. She laid there and said nothing. She closed her eyes and began to fall asleep. He sighed.

"You're taking the cot." He said to himself. He picked her up off the pelts that nestled on the floor and walked her over to the bed. He uncovered the sheets and fit her under them. He adjusted the duvets over her and went back to his spot on the floor.

"Goodnight, Menéldur." He smirked to himself.

Luthién's eyes opened. His sincerity...she felt outrageously puzzled but before she could give another thought she had fallen fast asleep.


End file.
